Butterflies and Such

Loose things are jettisoned around the world

When our planet turns this way and that

And they are carried, acrobatically whirled

Because this Earth ain't flat.

Butterflies flapping their wings

Is the first domino to fall

And makes the fronts and temperature swings

And the troughs and thunderheads tall

Dusty was a mote of note,

Awaft like a boat on a sunbeam;

He knew not where to float—

And was carried willy-nilly downstream.

The sunlight carried him on a shaft,

A bright ray across the ocean;

He breezed by, airborne, in a draft,

Carrying other motes aloft in motion.

“Hola,” said one mote who flew,

“My proper name is Smidgen;

“I came all the way from Lima, Peru,

In the dander of a pigeon.”

“Oy!” another mote said his way;

“Everyone calls me Speck;

An old Greek scratched his neck all day,

We floated off—me and my pal, Fleck.”

“Ciao,” said bambino mote, Scintilla.

“I’ve drifted with the changing weather;

I came in lint from a Roman villa

With fluff, some dirt, and a feather.”

“Bonjour, je m’appelle Soupçon,” one said with flair.

“I’ve blown this way from Paris, France;

I began my trip and took to the air

When Messier shook out his pants.”

“Yo, I’m here, too,” said little Trace—

“Got here by way of Beijing,

I’ve been here, there, all over the place—

But you’d hardly know by looking.”

“I came in with the flower’s pollen,”

Said L’il Bit hovering softly.

I came in with the things a’crawlin’,

Slithering, and creeping awfully.”

“I’m just called Squinch, much less than a pinch,”

Achooed a little puff o’pepper.

“I make folks sniff and cough and sneeze

Until they say they’re better.”

“I come from a sweater,” is what Shred said,

“Untied from wear and tear;

I used to be longer before I shed,

And now it’s gone threadbare.”

“I’m just a small portion,” said Modicum, so carefree,

“I’m making a symbolic debut.

They say common sense could use some of me

Respect, kindness, and decency, too!”

Booger’s my name and I’m a smudge;

That got flung from a finger in Tonga.

But mucus is sticky and doesn’t budge

Watch out I might get on ya!”

Then the mote named Morsel

Floated by and by,

“I’m just a crumb, off a cereal parcel

When its boxing went awry.

The dollop named Dab glopped on the floor

And filched us all there with him:

Booger and me and Smidgen and more

Joined the dust bunny in the kitchen.

Bunny and we rolled to a corner

Happily in our demeanor

And waited for our next ride

Inside a vacuum cleaner.

But please don’t worry about the fate

I share with Sparkle, Tinge, and L’il Bit.

Soon we’ll be back out and recreate

More dust, from afar, so wait for it.

“Aloha,” said Iota, who said we oughta

Listen up—there’s a lot to learn:

“The afternoon means rain and water

And you might end up in an urn.”

***

NOTE: I originally wrote this as a children's rhyme for my grandchildren.